I loved bunnies. Soft, fuzzy, cotton ball tail, cute little wiggly pink nose. I doted on them and fed them comfrey from the garden every chance I got. My big sister Lisa was in charge of them, she is a true rabbit lover and I had the honored position of assistant rabbit keeper. I helped her feed and water them, and never passed up an opportunity to play with them.
I distinctly remember at the age of 3 owning a pink hippopotamus bath tub for dolls. Now, while I was a tomboy and lover of all things boyish, I still enjoyed girlish moments, and that pink hippo bathtub was one of my most coveted possessions. I washed every doll and barbie I could find in the house in that little bath tub. But, alas, washing inanimate objects wears and tires with time and I longed for something alive to dunk into my little tub.
One of my sister’s beloved rabbits had given birth to a batch of bunnies. They were pitiful little things, eyes still closed. I looked at them through their cage poking my chubby little fingers in through the holes and stroking their soft fur. I was sad, they looked so cheerless and soiled. I sighed, surely there was something I the assistant rabbit keeper could do for these glum little bunnies to bring a little jollity into their humdrum lives.
It struck me like a lightening bolt! To be clean! I know how I felt after my evening bath, warm and cozy wrapped in my fuzzy pajamas, cuddled up so tight and feeling soft and fresh and CLEAN. And, didn’t I happen to have a perfect pink hippopotamus bathtub yearning for something new to bath? It was the perfect plan!
Off I galloped with all the intensity of a 3-year-old-on-a-mission and filled up that little bathtub with water. I even put bubble bath in so they would come out smelling so sweet. I was careful, oh so careful, to get the temperature of the water just right, not too hot and not too cold, and I got a towel to gently wrap them in to dry them off.
I collected the bunnies and carefully began to dunk and bath each one. There was just one problem, in all my excitement I didn’t think to ask my big sister for her seal of approval. She sure didn’t look happy when she found me, in fact I don’t recall her ever looking so distraught and upset before this! I knew I was in for it when she hollered for mom to com quick and saw the horrified expression on my mother’s face. Ah, well, as all good tragedies end, so does this one end in death. No, worries, not mine (though Lisa may have been tempted at the time hee hee), but some of those poor little bunnies no doubt died of pneumonia. Gratefully Lisa forgave me and I never attempted to bath bunnies again . . .
(I hope I am not boring you all to tears with my farm stories, I need to get them down before they leave my head completely . . . )